The Round About

The thought of being upstaged was nauseating---

adorations and cartwheels were not making the slightest bit of difference

At the far end of the metropolis, a pavilion was in its early staging--

the centerpiece for the great exhibition

Where they would rob me of my ideas

my designs

effortlessly charming their way through the printing press

removing me all together

passing my innovation off as their own

There were thieves among us in Paris--

the turn of the century was full of them, in fact--

bandits

crooks of the soul with the intention of corroding ingenuity

I thought it was Tuesday

--and it was--

synonymous with the death of progress

elapsing of nothing

indicative only of the newfound love for imitation